A/N Thank you for the encouraging reviews for the first two chapters. Since I can't thank my guest reviewers individually and personally, via PM, I'll express my gratitude here: please know that I appreciate your kind words. Here's Chapter 3, my late entry for Week 6 of S8.
March 1925
The past several weeks had been the most difficult time of Mr. Carson's life, and he had no doubt the next few would be even more miserable. After his conversation with Mrs. Hughes in which he'd told her about his condition, he'd been able to muddle through a few more weeks, but he'd been able to carry on as long as he had only because of her support – both moral and practical. She'd covertly helped him to decant the wine each afternoon; she'd written out purchase orders and signed invoices when his hands were especially shaky; she'd come up with convenient excuses to be certain that Andrew and Mr. Molesley polished the silver and that Mr. Barrow served the tea; and she'd tried to lift his spirits during their nightly tête-à-têtes. And of course, the touching note she'd written him, which he kept in his night table drawer and re-read nightly, was a source of some solace, too. But eventually, one evening after he sloshed some wine on the table while serving the dowager, he'd spoken to his lordship and tendered his resignation. Lord Grantham had been kind and supportive, saying that surely they could come to some satisfactory arrangement that wouldn't involve retirement. Mr. Carson, however, had been adamant that since he could no longer perform his duties to the high standards that Downton Abbey and the Crawleys deserved, he would surrender his post to someone more capable. After some deliberation, it had been decided that after a month's transition period in which Mr. Carson would ensure that Mr. Barrow was up to the challenge, the under butler would assume command. Mr. Carson would move to a nearby cottage – the nicest one available, chosen by Lady Mary herself – and might occasionally be called upon for consultation.
After the month of training and transition had expired, Mr. Carson stood, late in the evening, looking around his pantry one last time. He'd packed up all his personal effects, and Mr. Barrow had had the courtesy and sensitivity not to move anything of his own into the room yet, so the space looked rather barren.
"Mr. Carson?" came Mrs. Hughes's quiet voice from the open doorway.
He turned to look at her.
"They've all gone up," she told him. "I'll say good night now, too. I'm sure you'll want a few moments to yourself."
"No. Stay, please, if you don't mind," he pleaded. "I'm anticipating plenty of time to myself from now on, and I would very much appreciate your company right now … that is, if you're agreeable."
"Of course, Mr. Carson."
He motioned towards his two chairs, and they sat down facing each other, as they had so many times before.
"It was a lovely party tonight," remarked Mrs. Hughes.
"It was very kind of everyone, though I wish they hadn't made such a fuss," Mr. Carson said.
"Mr. Carson, you've been here for fifty years!" she pointed out. "That's longer than anyone except the dowager and Lord Grantham. They couldn't very well let you leave without proper recognition."
"But still, Mrs. Hughes … " Mr. Carson had been touched by the gesture when the family and staff gathered in the servants' hall for a sending-off party to bid him farewell, but he hadn't been comfortable with all the attention. He'd spent his entire career trying to blend in to the background, to be inconspicuous. Having a party in his honor had felt decidedly inappropriate.
They sat in silence for a moment, both deep in thought. Mr. Carson shifted in his chair. "I don't think I'm cut out for a solitary life," he confessed, changing the subject.
"Who says your life will be solitary? You'll come back here to visit us, and I'll call on you as often as I possibly can. I'm sure Mrs. Patmore will stop by, too. Even Lady Mary and his lordship will grace your doorstep, I'd wager."
"Hmph. I'm sure they've both got better things to do," he scoffed half-heartedly.
"Mark my words, Mr. Carson. They'll both appear at your door within the first week. Let's not pretend; we both know how fond of you they are. And I'll give it two weeks before the dowager pays her first call."
"Oh, come, now, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Carson was embarrassed, but his heart had warmed at the thought that he might be regarded so highly, and he smiled in spite of himself.
"And now you'll have time to become more involved in village life: the church, the library, perhaps some committee or other."
"Perhaps," he said, not convinced that any of those things would take the place of everything – and everyone – he was leaving behind. He slid forward in his chair, moving closer to Mrs. Hughes. "Mrs. Hughes, may I speak freely?"
"Of course, Mr. Carson! We're friends. Very dear friends. Don't we always speak our minds to each other?"
"Certainly we do," said Mr. Carson. "And that's precisely what I wish to address."
"I don't understand," replied Mrs. Hughes, her confusion evident in her expression.
Ever so slowly, his own hand trembling, he reached to take hers. He gazed at her, trying to hold back tears. "I shall miss you, Mrs. Hughes. Very much. Over the years, we've become close. We've sat and talked about trivial matters and important ones. I daresay you know me better than anyone, and as I've come to know you, too, I've grown fond of you. Quite fond, indeed. There's no one in the world who means more to me. And … I don't know how I'll manage if I can't sit down for a cup of tea with you in the afternoon and tell you my troubles … if I can't drink a glass of sherry with you in the evening and talk about my day. Who will listen to my grumbling about the all changes I read about in the morning papers?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood and managing a small smile.
She matched his teasing tone. "I'm sure the birds on your windowsill will prove more sympathetic to your grumbling than I've ever been."
"Well, if you've not been sympathetic, exactly, then you've at least tolerated me."
"Of course I have, Mr. Carson. I've 'tolerated' you because I'm quite partial to you, too," she told him. "But I'll not miss you, and I'll not allow you to miss me, either." He looked befuddled at that, and she chuckled at his expression. "Come with me, please." She patted his hand, rose, and led him into her sitting room.
While Mr. Carson sat waiting at her little table, Mrs. Hughes took a box from her shelf and then placed it on the table in front of him.
"I was going to wait until tomorrow, but now seems a good time. Go on. Open it," she urged him.
He lifted the lid and found the box partitioned into quarters, each section containing a sturdy porcelain cup and saucer. His hands shaking only slightly, he withdrew a cup and its saucer and examined them. Then he set them down on the table, managing to place the cup inside the saucer's deep well.
"A trembleuse*," he observed.
"Yes, four of them, in fact," she pointed out. "Two of them will stay here, in my sitting room, and we'll use them when you come back to visit. You'll take the other two with you to your cottage, and we'll use those when I call on you for tea."
"But you don't need a special cup. Your hands are steady as anything."
"Need I remind you again that we are friends? Your burdens are my burdens, and we'll bear them together. If we're united in a common purpose, then our cups should match, too. A show of solidarity, so to speak."
He was quite overcome by her gesture and her words. "Mrs. Hughes … I … I don't know what to say."
"You needn't say anything, Mr. Carson. These cups are a gift, a promise, and an obligation," she explained. "They're my retirement gift to you; they're a symbol of my promise to visit you in your cottage as often as I can; and they're a reminder of your obligation to return here as often as possible. I promise to keep up my end of the bargain, and I'll hold you to yours."
Mr. Carson was grateful for Mrs. Hughes's sensitivity. It was obvious that he needed a moment to compose himself, and so she tactfully took two of the cups and saucers and went to place them on her shelf. "Now, you'd better be a frequent guest. I don't expect these to collect any dust!" she admonished playfully over her shoulder as she arranged them.
By the time she returned to the table, he'd stood.
"It's getting late," she said. "I should go up now. I'll leave you in peace to have a last look around." She pointed to the box with the two remaining cups. "You can leave these here for now. We'll take them with us tomorrow when we go."
"'We'? 'Us'?" he wondered aloud.
"Well, you didn't think I'd send you off on your own, did you? I'm going with you to get you settled. I'll not stay long, but I'll worry unless I see for myself that you're all right." But suddenly, she seemed uncertain. "Unless, of course, you'd rather I didn't," she added softly.
Gratitude swelled in his heart for the dear woman before him. He clasped her hands in his own, which did now tremble quite a bit.
"Assuming you can spare the time, I would be most grateful if you would accompany me," he assured her, and he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them.
"Then, it's settled. I'll see you in the morning," said Mrs. Hughes.
And with that, she slipped her hands from his and left him to himself. He made one, last, slow circuit of the downstairs and the main floor of the house, surveying the domain he would surrender in the morning. Then he went up to bed and spent his last night in the room that had been his for decades.
In the morning, after breakfast, two hall boys delivered the last of Mr. Carson's possessions to his cottage. The retiring butler was subjected to a round of tearful goodbyes and well wishes from both family and staff. He managed to maintain his composure throughout, but after Lady Mary solemnly kissed his cheek, his tenuous grasp on his dignity was very much in peril. Mercifully, Mrs. Hughes intervened with a crisp, "Come along, now, Mr. Carson. We should be off."
The two donned coats and hats and made their way out the back door. Though his lordship had offered to place the motor at Mr. Carson's disposal and have Mr. Stark drive him, Mr. Carson preferred to walk. Lady Mary had chosen his new cottage not only for its superior amenities but also for its proximity to the abbey; it was no more than a ten-minute walk at a leisurely pace.
Once outside the gate to the servants' courtyard, Mr. Carson offered Mrs. Hughes his arm. The uneven path and occasional ruts provided a convenient reason, but the truth was that he simply needed to feel her touch. Wordlessly, she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and he felt better immediately. They walked to the cottage slowly, silently. Once there, Mr. Carson removed a key from his coat pocket, but his trembling hand fumbled, and Mrs. Hughes placed her own hand over his to help guide the key to the lock. He could have managed on his own, eventually, but he certainly didn't object to the feel of her warm, soft skin on his. They turned the key together, opened the door, stepped inside, and closed the door behind them. In the entryway, they found the box and valise that the hall boys had delivered earlier. While Mr. Carson hung their coats and took his valise to his bedroom, Mrs. Hughes unpacked the box and made some tea. A short time later, they sat together on the sofa in Mr. Carson's parlor and drank their tea, christening their trembleuse cups.
Mr. Carson smiled sadly. "I never imagined I'd need one of these," he said, indicating the cup tucked firmly into its saucer's well. "I feel like a doddering old woman! Even her ladyship the dowager doesn't need one. The last time we used the set at Downton was when the old Lord Shackleton visited – and he was older than Methesulah!"
"Mr. Carson, there's no shame in it. It will take some time for you to adjust, but you'll get on." She took a sip of tea. "So what do you plan to do with your time on your first day of retirement?"
"I'm not sure. I thought I might read for a bit and then take a walk into village if the weather holds. Maybe have lunch at the Grantham Arms."
"Sounds lovely."
"It's not like being at Downton Abbey," he lamented, "but in the hustle and bustle of the village, at least I won't be alone."
"You'll never be alone, Mr. Carson. I'm just a short walk away," she reminded him.
"I appreciate that, Mrs. Hughes. Truly, I do. But you've a job to do and your own life to live. You needn't be burdened with me." He set his tea down on the nearby table and looked down at his hands in his lap.
Mrs. Hughes also set her cup aside. "Mr. Carson, you mustn't think of it that way. If my visiting you will be a 'burden' to me, then by the same logic, your paying for my trip to Lytham St Annes will place a burden on you."
"No, never!" he was quick to correct.
"Well, then! If I'm going to allow you, as my friend, to do something kind for me, then you must allow me, as your friend, to do something kind for you in return."
He smiled. "Is that meant to be logical … or threatening?"
"Think what you will. It's perfectly reasonable, but if you're going to be difficult about it, then so will I!"
"I don't wish to fall out with you, Mrs. Hughes. I shall do as you say and accept your kindness with a grateful spirit."
"That's better. Now, I must be off."
She stood and took their cups to his kitchen, and he followed. She washed the cups, and his hands were still enough that he was able to dry them. When they were done, they walked towards the front door. He took her coat from the hook and helped her put it on, then reached for his own.
"I'll walk you back," he stated, not expecting any objection.
But she did protest. "Nonsense! You've only just left that house. Stay here and enjoy your peace and quiet."
"But I'd like to see you safely back," he insisted.
"And so you can. You can look out this window and watch me. You'll be able to see me the whole way." Mrs. Hughes was correct, of course: from his front window, Mr. Carson could indeed see Downton Abbey, a fact that comforted him exceedingly. "It's the middle of the day. I'll be perfectly safe," she added.
Mr. Carson was reluctant at first to permit her walk alone, but then the thought came to him that he would prefer to part with Mrs. Hughes here, in the privacy of his cottage, rather than in the courtyard or at the back entrance to the house.
"Very well, Mrs. Hughes," he conceded. "But you must promise to turn and wave to me before you slip inside."
She grinned at him. "It's a deal, Mr. Carson."
Suddenly and with great force, he realized that this was their goodbye. Oh, he would see her again before too long. But things would never be the same. She wouldn't be in the next room, laboring away at her desk while he worked at his. He wouldn't hear the click of her heels or the jangling of her keys as she glided from room to room. He wouldn't catch a whiff of her scent as he passed her in the corridor. He couldn't seek her out just for her company. He felt her loss already, even as she still stood in front of him.
"I shall miss you," he said with great emotion.
"And I you," she agreed.
They stared into one another's eyes for a long moment. Then he laid his hand on her shoulder, bent down, and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek. When he drew back slightly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and embraced him, and he slid his arms around her waist and returned the embrace. They separated their bodies somewhat, but their hands remained in place, holding each other.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Hughes," he whispered.
"No, Mr. Carson. Not 'goodbye.' 'I'll see you soon,'" she corrected.
He smiled feebly through his tears. "I'll see you soon, Mrs. Hughes."
The moment was bittersweet. She felt so good in his arms, and he would have liked to hold her forever, but he knew he must release her, and so he did. He moved to the door, opened it for her, and followed her outside. Instead of observing from his window as she'd suggested, he stood just outside his door and watched her make the short journey back to the house. When she reached the courtyard, she did indeed turn and wave, and he waved back. Then he went back inside to face his lonely cottage and his first day of retirement.
A/N *A "trembleuse" cup is a cup that sits in a deep-welled saucer or a saucer with a raised rim in the middle to hold the cup in place. The first trembleuse cups were made in Paris in about 1690. They were intended for people who suffered from hand tremors, the idea being that those so afflicted might hold their cups without spilling the contents. Sometimes, these cups even came with lids. Originally, they were used for coffee and hot chocolate, but they would have worked just as well for tea – or any other drink, really. (See my tumblr page for picturess.) Fortuitously, I came across this information when I was researching something else entirely, and what I found was useful for this story.
Please leave me a review if you can spare the time and effort. Your feedback is important to me. Thanks in advance.